


Winter

by Akoya8



Series: Birthday One-Word Prompts [29]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Implied Arya/Jaqen H'ghar, Older Man/Younger Woman, Podrick Is An Unnamed Cameo, Sansa Is Sick, Threats Of Parental Involvement, Threats Of Violence Against Annoying Elder Sons, Tis The Season For A Fever, Tywin Is Giving More Than A Sponge Bath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-29
Updated: 2014-09-29
Packaged: 2018-02-19 05:28:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2376494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akoya8/pseuds/Akoya8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa is a bit sick, and Tywin is making a house call.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winter

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire. It belongs to GRRM.
> 
> Author’s Note: Number 29 in my one-word prompt series. AU Tywin/Sansa. Mature content and things that could pass for fluff. 
> 
> Right, this is the result of a song by The Black Keys (“Fever”) and my own need to procrastinate and not do my schoolwork…I may have also been avoiding grading my students’ papers.

Winter descended on King’s Landing with all the furor of a mild thunderstorm.

The residents of the city shrugged their shoulders, their only concessions to the change in seasons were heavier coats while a few of the more style conscious donned scarves and frequented the cafes with greater regularity. It was a damp season, causing no small amount of ruined hair and shoes, and, unfortunately, illnesses. Summer cold gave way to Winter fevers, and Sansa Stark was bed-bound, feeling rather put out about the whole thing.

Her sister, down for a weekend visit and tourney, was attempting to badger her into a shower.

“Gods, Sansa, you are dangerously close to killing me with how bad you smell. I, your loving sister, should not be subjected to such a stench before I have to go and defend my title!”

“Shut up, Arya,” Sansa croaked. She knew she smelled like shit, felt even worse, and she did not need Arya’s voice hammering her ears like that.

On the other hand, Arya had a point; not about her smell (that was just rude), throwing her off her game (that was just impossible), but being clean (that just sounded _wonderful_ ). Of course, Sansa still felt too weak to wash on her own, which meant that not only would she have to admit that Arya was right out loud, she would have to ask for help as well. The thought made her groan, but it swiftly turned into a whimper as her throat protested, reminding her of its soreness.

“Arya,” she began, “you’re right, but I need help. I don’t think I’m strong enough for a shower.”

The triumphant gleam quickly disappeared from Arya’s eyes as she looked her sister over, “Yeah, you look pretty fucking pathetic, but that’s normal for you anyways.”

Sansa cracked a small smile, aware that laughter would send her into a coughing fit, “Help a sister out?”

“I’ll go get the bath running and then come back for you. Don’t go anywhere.”

“Other than the floor?”

“Other than the floor.”

Arya left and a moment later, Sansa heard her pipes rumbling to life as water rushed through them. Her sister reappeared with a stern look on her face, “Sansa, I may kill you and steal your flat. That tub is enormous! Who in the hells did you shag to get this place anyway?”

“It’s a secret, but I’ll be sure to will it to you if this fever manages to kill me.”

Concern swept across Arya’s face, “Are you sure you don’t want me to call mum? You know she would leap at the chance to smother you until you got better.”

“Gods, wouldn’t she just? No, leave her alone. This is far from the first time that I’ve been sick. I don’t know what it is about this city, but I never got sick like this at Winterfell.”

“The result of a healthy amount of fear, I suspect. Mum barely lets Bran out of her sight; if you had been sick all of the time, you never would have convinced her to let you leave. Now, up, come on, stand up!”

Sansa tottered to her feet, leaning heavily on Arya as she did. Together, they limped to the bathroom, and Sansa tried not to let her sudden nausea overwhelm her. The sight of steaming water pouring into the tub was a welcome one, and she held up the wall while Arya tugged off her pajama bottoms.

“Arms up.”

Obediently, Sansa lifted her limp arms, letting Arya wrangle her top over her head. “Okay, you’re going to ease in hold on to me, I don’t want you slipping.”

The hot water burned her already fever-hot skin, but she set her teeth against the sensation, knowing that it would help seat the sickness out.

“Hair first then body?”

“Yeah; I think there’s a glass or something under the sink that you can use.”

Arya rummaged around without success, “I’ll just get one from the kitchen; back in a tick!”

Sansa wriggled farther down into the tub, disliking the way the cooler air of the flat made her skin prickle. She thought she heard a knock at her door but dismissed it: it was probably just Arya still looking for a glass. She heard the knocking again, followed by murmuring voices that were growing louder by the second.

“You have no way to stop me from seeing her.”

“The fuck do you think you’re talking to? My fingers aren’t broken; they can still dial 999, so back the fuck off, old man.”

Suddenly, he was in the doorway, filling up the room, and her heart, with his presence. “Hi,” she whispered weakly. She watched as his eyes swept over her, taking in her condition.

He turned back to Arya, who had been using his silence to gear up for another verbal barrage, and seized the glass she was holding, “Thank you for your assistance, but I will take over from here.”

“You can’t just—”

He shut the door in her face and turned the lock.

“Well, Miss Stark, I expect you have a good reason for missing work?” 

* * *

 

He drummed his fingers on top of his desk, their tapping muffled by various papers and folders spread out beneath them.

She had called in, but not to him, no. Instead, she had gone through the appropriate channels, leaving him unaware of her absence until a temporary assistant showed up to replace her. That boy had been fortunate to escape his presence with his head still attached to his shoulders.

Jaime looked on with no small amount of amusement with just a hint of confusion. “As much as I like seeing you put the peons in their place, father, I’m not sure he deserved all that. So, your assistant called in and you react by pitching a fit that would make a toddler blush. I’m don’t know what kind of message you want to send your employees, but I’m rather certain _that_ was not it.”

“ _Jaime_ ,” he growled at his thankless spawn.

“Yes?”

“I’m interested in killing someone.”

“Oh?”

“Go away until I decide it isn’t _you_.”

“No need to show me out, father, I remember where the door is.” He opened the door, calling out as he did, “Bear, I think I need to disappear for a spell. Be a dear and book us some tickets.”

Tywin heard Jaime’s assistant grumble back a reply, “Would it kill you to give me some notice, Lannister? You’re not the center of the universe and I already have enough work to do.” He couldn’t hear what his son said in return, but he filed away a mental note to appropriate a small raise to the Tarth girl. Though her manner and appearance were appalling, she managed to keep his son out of serious trouble as well as out of the tabloids.

Thoughts related to his son soon left, leaving him with thoughts of _her_. In all the time that she had worked for him, he could not recall her behaving thusly. _Though_ , he mused, _she has never missed a day of work for illness or any other reason_. That alone made him suspicious, and that feeling was soon magnified by the fact that she had neglected to inform _him_ of her absence. Perhaps she was not sick at all, merely playing the part while she indulged in far more nefarious behavior…

Tywin was up and out of the chair before his mind caught up to the decision made by his body: he would go to her and see for himself what she was about.

He strode out of his office, collecting employees to him like flies to honey, barking out orders as he made his way to the lifts. “You, I want the report on Targaryen Enterprises on my desk before noon.”

“Yes, Mr. Lannister.”

“You, reschedule my meeting with Baelish.”

“For when, Mr. Lannister?”

“Tomorrow, same time.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You, have my car brought ‘round.”

“Will you be needing your driver, Mr. Lannister?”

“No.”

“Very well, sir.”

She had better have a good reason for this. 

* * *

 

A stranger answered her door, but the ice-blue eyes and the mulish jaw showed her to be one of Eddard Stark’s get. “Where is she?”

“The fuck are you looking for, old man?”

Tywin’s eyes narrowed, this girl was abrasive and offensive, nothing at all like her sister. “You’ll keep a civil tongue when speaking to me; girl now, where is your sister?”

Anger blossomed high in the girl’s cheeks, “You’ve got a brass set of your own to talk to me like that, even if you do know my sister, which I highly doubt you do.”

His patience having reached its limit, he pushed past her; her stature was negligible in the face of his own, and he set about the flat looking for Sansa.

“Oi, I don’t know who the fuck you are, but I know I can make you _hurt_.”

A swift look in the bedroom indicated that she had to be in the bathroom; the racket her sibling was making would have drawn her out otherwise, and he set off in its direction.

“Are you listening to me?”

“You have no way to stop me from seeing her.”

“The fuck do you think you’re talking to? My fingers aren’t broken; they can still dial 999, so back the fuck off, old man.”

His hand grasped the knob of the bathroom door, twisting it open.

“Hi,” Sansa whispered; her voice was weak, and he took a moment to look her over. The truth of her condition was apparent: Sansa was indeed rather ill. Still, that was no reason to let her off lightly for her gross oversight.

He turned back to her sister, whose face had colored to an alarming degree, and took a glass from her hand, “Thank you for your assistance, but I will take over from here.”

“You can’t just—”

Tywin shut the door in her face and turned the lock before facing Sansa again, “Well, Miss Stark, I expect you have a good reason for missing work?” 

* * *

 

Sansa gave him a small smile, “I’m feeling a bit under the weather, Mr. Lannister. I did notify the department of my absence, though.”

The look he leveled at her in return was a dark one, “You did, and the department notified me by sending a temporary assistant. He suffered the consequences of my displeasure.”

“I can’t help the fact that I got sick, Tywin. There’s just something about this city…my immune system struggles to keep up with its seasonal moods.”

“I’m well aware of that, Sansa, but it does not excuse your from informing me of your absence. I was not… _pleased_ when I found out.”

Sansa felt her cheeks flush even deeper with the knowledge that he had been worried about her. She smiled at him again and turned a little in the tub, “Wash my back?”

His response was to set down the glass in his hand and remove his coat before undoing the buttons of his waistcoat. Her eyes widened when she saw that he was removing far more than was necessary to aid her in her ablutions. She opened her mouth to confirm her suspicions, but he stopped her with a glare, “I’ll not be kneeling by your tub like a lovesick _boy_.”

“Oh,” was her murmured reply.

After that, Sansa watched him, quietly reveling in each bit of skin he exposed, remembering the kisses she had placed so fondly on every inch of him. His clothing finally gone, he approached the tub and eyed her critically, “Your hair wants washing.”

Embarrassed by her grungy state, she bit her lip and gestured to the glass he had taken from Arya, “My sister was going to help.”

Tywin snorted in faint derision and reached for the showerhead, cocking his eyebrow at her as he did.

“Don’t give me that look! I forgot!”

“Clearly,” he huffed at her, detaching the head from its holder and turning the water back on.

“I’m sick,” she grumped at him, “I can’t be expected to remember the little things.”

“And one of those “little things” would be phoning me?” Tywin’s eyes glittered dangerously at her.

"It’s not like I did it on purpose. A few hours ago I could barely _speak_ without wanting to throw up!”

“Charming. Lean forward.”

Obediently, Sansa leaned forward and sighed as the warm spray of water hit her head. She wanted to beg him to bring it back when he set it aside, but groaned in pleasure instead as his fingers massaged shampoo into her red locks. “Gods, that feels _so_ good. You’re amazing, Tywin.” Her ardent praise earned her another snort; apparently, he was still upset.

“I wanted to call you.”

Another snort, followed by a tug on her hair.

“I _did_ , but I thought it would be more appropriate to let the department head tell you.”

His fingers withdrew altogether, and she whimpered at their removal. “Hush, and close your eyes.”

The water came back, rinsing away the shampoo. His fingers returned, carefully combing through her hair to get rid of any remaining suds. The water stopped again, and she looked up at him. “Can you stand?”

“I’m still a little weak, but I think I can. Soaking has helped sweat some of the fever out.”

Tywin reached for her, helping her pull herself up. She leaned against him as he reached around her, grasping for her loofah and body wash. He wet the loofah and poured a generous amount of the soap onto it, rubbing it in to make it foamy. “Hold on to me and life a leg. Brace it on the edge.”

Sansa did as instructed and he swept the soapy loofah up and down her leg, covering every inch with a sudsy trail. She giggled as he ran it over her toes and the bottom of her foot as she moved it back into the tub. Her other leg received the same treatment before he set the loofah down, reaching for the shower again once again.

Her legs rinsed, he turned her in his arms and lifter her hair over her shoulder, leaving her back bare for washing. Tywin started at her neck and shoulders, working his way down in soothing circles. He stopped at her backside and ran a soapy hand between her buttocks, making her squeak with indignation, “Tywin!”

He ignored her and went on making sure that her backside was _thoroughly_ cleaned. Water rained down on her again, sluicing away the bubbles and some of her indignation; that had been a dirty trick to pull, but she conceded that it was a soft revenge, much softer than the one she had been expecting. He turned her again, moving her hair back over her shoulder. This time, he abandoned the loofah entirely and poured more body wash into his hands before placing them on her breasts. She inhaled sharply as Tywin plucked her nipples, bringing them to aching points, but he did not linger at her breasts for long.

His hands swept up, spanning her collarbone before they smoothed over her neck and rounded her shoulders. They worked down her arms, and Sansa kissed his neck as he threaded his fingers through hers, holding their hands palm to palm. After a long moment, he disengaged, moving his hands back to her chest. She held her breath, hoping that his clever fingers would return to her nipples, but they roamed over her stomach, ghosted over her sides and down her hips.

One of his arms went around her waist, his hand holding her to him, while his other moved to her cunt. Tywin cleaned her carefully, mindful of his fingers, and her body tightened with a sudden, wanting ache. She must have moaned a little because she felt him growl into her ear, “Not yet, Sansa. You’ll have to wait.”

She sighed; the man could teach patience to rocks. He set her away from him a little while he rinsed her off for the last time.

Tywin returned the showerhead to its hook, and then reached for the stopper in the tub’s drain. Sansa felt slightly dismayed, “I thought we were going to—”

“We will,” he assured her, “but I will not soak in filthy water.”

She bit his shoulder in retaliation for that remark, “I wasn’t _that_ dirty!”

He spanked her in return and switched the water back over to the tub’s faucet, watching as water began to pour back in.

“I hope the boiler has enough for all of this,” she said, worried over how much hot water they had already used.

“It had better,” Tywin said darkly, “or else the plumber will be forced to look for a profession that does not require the use of his hands.”

Sansa rolled her eyes at his threat; she knew that he was only half-serious. Tywin only used the best because that was the expectation he had for their performance. 

* * *

 

The water finally reached an acceptable depth, so he turned it off and climbed into the tub to stand behind Sansa. He eased himself into the water, stretching out his legs until his feet were flat against the opposite end of the tub.

Sansa was looking down at him, watching his movements with a small smile on her face. He gestured at his lap and waited as she lowered herself into the tub until her back was flush against his chest, and her toes were brushing his ankles.

His cock twitched against her bottom, but he continued to ignore it. Sansa’s head lolled back onto his shoulder and he wrapped his arms around her, securing her to him.

They soaked silently for several minutes, their breathing slow and even.

Sansa made the first move, rubbing her bottom against his now semi-erect cock. Though he was interested in taking her up on her offer, he felt that she should make a token protest in regards to her illness, “You’re not recovered.”

Another rub, this one sharper, but less controlled. “I’m feeling _a lot_ better, trust me.”

Fucking in a bathtub was always a tricky thing, with more water ending up on the tile than staying in the tub, but the water was still warm and Sansa was eager in his arms…and the bad-tempered girl was probably still loitering outside, waiting to pounce.

“You’ll have to be extra quiet, lest your sister thinks I’m hurting you.”

She slapped his knee, laughing at the wet sound it made, “I’m never loud!”

Tywin said nothing; he merely brought one of his knees up, hitched Sansa a little higher up his chest, and then guided her down onto his waiting cock. They both let out short hisses of breath at the feeling. She wasn’t completely ready for him, and her cunt was clenching his cock tightly, preventing further movement. He knew precisely what remedy to apply: while one hand covered a breast, tweaking her nipple, the other made its way down her stomach and to her cunt.

At first, he circled her clit lightly, avoiding touching it directly. That made her squirm in his lap, and his cock gained another inch with the increased wetness. Still, it wasn’t enough. Done with his teasing, Tywin plucked at her clit, delighting in the unchecked moan that passed through her parted lips. He removed his fingers, ignoring her pleas to bring them back. “I said “quiet,” Miss Stark.” He punctuated his command with a shallow thrust. The water sloshed around noisily, making him grind his teeth in irritation.

Sansa laughed, “What was that you were—”

A thrust of his hips had her words trailing off into a low moan. She grasped his raised knee, trying to gain the leverage needed to meet his thrusts, but her feet could find no purchase in the tub. Sansa turned her head into his throat, gasping against his skin, “It’s not enough! Please, I need _more_!”

The hand that had abandoned her clit returned, pinching her in a rhythm that matched his shallow thrusts. Her back arched off his chest, her hips churned against his cock, and he knew that she still needed more.

He left her clit, and, taking her free hand in to own, guided her smaller fingers to her cunt. Sansa’s fingers went to her clit immediately, frantically rubbing it while his fingers trailed down her folds to where they were one. At first, his fingers brushed against her entrance, seeking out what little room was left around his cock.

Tywin eased a finger into her, shuddering with pleasure at the sudden tightening of her cunt. She drew in a deep breath, but before she could let it out, he covered her mouth with his own his tongue diving in to tangle messily with her own. The distraction allowed him to slip another finger inside her alongside the first. She stiffened further in his arms, prompting him to pull back from her mouth and press kisses to her taut neck. “Sansa.”

She whined as his fingers flexed inside her. He too felt some mild discomfort, but it was nothing in the face of their imminent release. “ _Sansa_.”

“Y-yes?”

“Place your fingers back on your clit and do not move them away.” He felt a jolt run through her body as her fingers resumed their duties at her clit.

Tywin bit down on her lobe, then growled into her ear, “ _Good girl_.”

His fingers began to thrust in and out of her, matching the pace set by the fingers she strummed against her clit. His hips soon moved again, slowly thrusting his cock in time with his fingers. Their panted breaths grew louder as the sensations built.

Tywin knew before she could gasp the words out, and his mouth moved over hers, swallowing up her small cries as she broke around his fingers and cock. Sansa’s climax triggered his own, and his seed jetted out against her slick walls. They shivered in the aftermath of their shared pleasure, gradually becoming aware of how much the water had cooled while they were occupied. He slipped his fingers out of her followed by his cock. Tywin set her away from him and rose up from the water, motioning to her to raise her arms so that he could help her to her feet and out of the tub. She sat on the lid of the toilet, watching him remove the plug from the drain. He returned to her with a towel in hand, drying her off quickly before doing the same to himself.

Tywin put his clothes back on, giving no thought to the wrinkles they had accumulated whilst on the floor. He looked for Sansa’s clothes, but found only the soiled pajamas that he assumed she had been wearing prior to her bath. He raised an eyebrow, shooting her an exasperated look.

Sansa blushed as she caught it and mumbled, “We weren’t really thinking beyond the getting clean part.”

“Clearly. You’ll just have to make do with a towel for now.”

“It’s only my sister out there.”

“Who has, no doubt, been pressed to the door, listening to our activities.”

Sansa’s blush went deeper, “I’ll kill her.”

“Later, Miss Stark. Sleeping is the only thing you’ll be doing in the near future.”

* * *

 

Arya turned on her the second the door closed behind Tywin, “I’m telling dad and mum. That man, whoever he is, is a prick. Totally wrong for you.”

“You tell them about him and I tell them about Jaqen whatshisface.”

The sisters glared at each other; neither was willing to cede her advantage over the other.

“Fine,” Arya said, “but if I ever see him again, I’m kicking his ass!”

“I’m sure you’ll try,” Sansa responded mildly, indulging her sister’s fit of pique.

“How in the hells do you know about that Lorathi bastard in the first place?”

“That’s privileged information.”

“Too bad he didn’t fuck the bitch out of you while he was in there.”

“I’m writing you out of my will.”

“Go to sleep, you grave robber.”


End file.
